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WATERMAN CHALLENGE STORY....
44 and Then There’s Shore
by: Monica "Nikki" Horgan (Kevin's Wife)
July 2, 2007
This is the short story about a long journey. The official headline would read, “Kevin Horgan, 42 Year-Old Hanalei Man, Paddles 175 Miles in a Cumulative 44 Hours for Big Brother’s Charity.” This is true. And it is fantastic. But the question on everyone’s mind is how? Why?
I am married to the man who made the journey and I don’t think I can tell you why he did it. And if I can’t tell you then probably he can’t either. That’s sort of the point about passionate behavior. No one really understands it. It bites like a beast and doesn’t let go. It creates craving and frustration and it breaks your heart when left unfulfilled. But oh the feeling. The sweet satisfaction of completion if you are able to quench it. And that’s the thing about Kevin that is really worth talking about. He doesn’t stop unfulfilled. So many people do. Kevin does not. He replenishes his cravings by satisfying them. I have never met anyone like him. The question is never, Can I? It is simply, when do We Start?
I was asked all along this crazy voyage if I was worried. The answer is no. Because I knew that the only real worry was if Kevin did NOT fulfill this hunger. And I knew that that was not an option. He simply would not stop, no matter what until he reached the goal. Normally I would be worried that he would deplete himself so badly that his body would simply stop. But he had the best support team on the planet with Chuck Weimar and Bobo Bazogé and later Kevin Maguire, the Montauk fishermen who followed him every paddle of the way in a 21-foot Mako graciously lent by Debbie Kuntz , another Montauk/Kauai surfer friend. The boat was chock full of deli sandwiches and Pedialyte, Rice Krispy Treats, Advil, Red Bull, Cliff Bars, water, Yodels, fruit, and some good old fashioned Montauk boys with lots of warmth and maybe a couple dirty jokes.
To be honest I was more worried about his father, Paddy, who may not have slept well the past week or so until last night because Kevin is home and fine and satiated….until the hunger creeps in and we all get ready again to follow him on his next passionate journey. And we will, oh we will grumble and so forth, but we will follow him because Kevin does something that is inspiring. He faces his fears, pushes through all boundaries, doesn’t take NO for an answer, quenches his thirst and does what not enough people do. He lives.
All this is to say that no one knows why Kevin got on a surfboard on Thursday around the Statue of Liberty at about 10am and started paddling until he reached Newport, RI, some 175 miles North of Manhattan.
Yes, oh yes there was Shake-A-Leg Miami. In a valiant push, Kevin, Harry and countless others raised over $60,000 for Shake-a-leg Miami. Not bad considering the fact they only started the fundraising about 4 weeks ago.
Here is the best detailed account I can give on what went down the past 4 days in the Atlantic….
Conditions were just about perfect when they set out on Thursday morning. This was no small miracle as the night before, Manhattan was plunged in black clouds, pouring rain and thunder and lightening. There were brown outs all up and down the island from the flash flood rains. It was hot, hotter than I can tell you in words. But Thursday dawned crisp, clear and cool. The winds were Southwest, and the current was raging in the right direction.
Kev took off with Bobo and Chuck on the boat and he was flying. We were running alongside him on the Battery Park Esplanade and literally couldn’t keep up. They were doing about 5 miles per hour + at the time which was way better than expected. The only problem in that first hour was the Coast Guard. Two boats sped after him and pulled him over, wanting to know what the Heck they were doing. When they told them, they asked, “Why?” But they let him go with well wishes and heads shaking.
The conditions cooperated beautifully for the first ten hours. Suddenly, a massive black cloud appeared out of nowhere bringing side ways 30-knot winds, thunder, lightening and choppy waters. Kevin was paddling hard, his body sideways. The fishermen, donning their water gear, were un-phased, Bobo lighting up a cigarette and Chuck shouting over the weather to Kevin, “So Kev, what’s Harry doin’ t’night?” Thankfully the summer storm blew through in about 30 minutes.
They reached Fire Island that night after 12 hours of paddling. The inlet was black dark and Kevin equated navigating like that to doing a maze blindfolded. Apparently North Eastern fisherman read Braille pretty good because the made their way without incident. As they came in late there were no cars or taxis, he saw a McDonalds and started dreaming of a Big Mac. They reached the Golden Arches and found the door locked but the drive-in was open. Kev still had his headlamp on and lit, along with two pink glow sticks on his sides (a coincidence but no doubt, helpful on Fire Island), no shirt, no shoes, and wearing a towel and his heart rate monitor chest strap. He queued up in the drive thru line, cars in front and behind, and walked right up to the window. Wouldn’t you know it, they wouldn’t help him. They asked the lady behind them to order for them, who obliged (out of fear?) but the kid working the drive thru asked “Is this for the guy in the towel?” and they wouldn’t give him the food!
He traded in his Big Mac craving for Taco Bell, who would help him.
They stayed that night at Chuck’s girlfriend, Jean’s place. She set them up nicely and they slept well that night. The next day they got up, did their calculations, restocked supplies and headed out at about 11am. They waited for a good current and wind but it didn’t come. So they set out anyway with both against him.
Day 2 was not as dreamy as the first. Another 12 hours that day but it should have taken 8. Around 3 in the afternoon, Kevin looked over and spotted a fin. Having commercial fishermen with you is great for many reasons. They can tell you on site what fish it is. They calmly said not to worry as the shark was a “Basking Shark” with no teeth. But then they took off! To go see it! Leaving Kevin there, unconvinced as to the innocuousness of this 20-foot long plankton eater. Yes, it was 20 feet long. The boat was only 12 inches longer. As it turns out, that thing really got that big eating only plankton. It left Kevin alone.
They reached Shinnecock late that night. Lovely Jean had secured them a place for the night right inside the inlet. Kevin said, “Great hotel, horrible inlet.” Getting inside the inlet was one of the most challenging parts of the journey. They were on that 21-footer and battling overhead waves. That was not enough. The waves were breaking in the middle and the backwash was slapping into the next wave in a plume of white water. Again, great to have those damn fishermen with you who navigated like it was a lake. Although Chuck admitted to me the next day that he was nervous then. I’m glad he didn’t tell anyone at the time.
When I spoke to Kev after the first day, he sounded perfect. Full of adrenaline, confidence and pride. After day 2, he said, “Today sucked.” But a good night sleep and a hot breakfast and he had it back. Day 3 was better.
The third day the weather was glorious and being half way there is a damn good feeling. Chuck took the day off from captaining that day. Bobo continued his unwavering support on the boat and another Montauk fisherman, Kevin Maguire, took over skippering. As it turns out, Chuck ended up spending the whole day prepping for the massive feast and fanfare for Kevin’s arrival into Montauk, the crew’s hometown.
They left Shinnecock at around 9:30 Saturday morning. Light offshore side winds and a decent current helped out. Unlike Hawaii conditions, which almost always produce a little swell for riding, the Atlantic gave Kev almost no waves, which is inconvenient on a 16-foot surfboard. But Day 3 he got to ride a few. Which was great for the confidence and motivation.
Out of unknown territory and into the waters of the Hamptons and eventually, Montauk, the boys got a homecoming buzz. The going is not as hard when there are familiar faces on the other end. Plus, Kenna (Kev’s little girl), myself (the wife), Harry, Suzy and Eli (their son) were in an SUV headed to Montauk to meet them too.
Chuck called Kevin midway through the day and asked what he wanted for dinner that night.
“Cheeseburgers, lobster and a South West wind,” said Kevin.
He got all three.
Kevin arrived early thanks to the SW wind, at Chuck’s home in Montauk to a full hot tub, warm reception from a house full of surfer fishermen friends, and more cheeseburgers and lobsters than any of us could count or recall. We made a valiant effort to eat them all. I am from California and don’t know my way around a lobster, but let me tell you, watching a hungry crew of North Easterners dig in to those crustaceans was almost poetic. Watching my sister-in-law, Susie, as she cracked, shucked, and ripped her way through that angry red shell made me think I better never meet her in a dark alley. The carnage was mountainous. I will never forget that pile of rubbish.
Kev slept with his family that night. He was well. He slept great. He ate a big breakfast and he filled up all his camel bags of potions and filled up his red bag with his needed supplies….left to waves, goodbyes, and well wishes…without the bag of stuff. We got the call about 20 minutes later…can someone please bring the red bag full of his supplies to the lighthouse, Chuck will be waiting.
I drove like Hell with the bag 7.5 miles to the lighthouse at the tip of Montauk and there was Chuck, standing on the side of the road, dripping wet in his polo shirt and shorts. He had swum from the boat to the shore to collect the bag. In a frenzy, I grabbed and drove his son Charley’s truck and in the back was a surfboard, which Chuck took and paddled back out to the boat with the red bag. When I got back to the house Charley was sun screening up on his way out for a surf, “I just need my board out of the back of the truck Nik,” he said. Ooops.
And with that, Kevin paddled away from Long Island and turned toward Rhode Island. Kevin says the official name for Long Island is now, Really Really Really Long Island.
Day four. 37 miles to go. And his hometown of Newport waiting, he headed out . Conditions not optimal but a good tide. If only the wind was behind him, but instead it was coming across the board. Kevin had Block Island in his sites. And he had it in his sites. And on and on. He had Block Island in his sites for about 7 hours. He says he never wants to see Block Island again.
Harry, Susie, Eli, Kenna and myself took a 10-seater charter plane to Newport. We left at 4:00pm and circled Kevin at about 1000 feet by 4:20. He was waving his paddle in the air as we circled. I mistakenly thought it would be good for his morale. He later said, “Seeing you guys and knowing it was taking you 20 minutes what was taking me 10 hours was a little discouraging.” But he pushed on.
Meanwhile back on the home front, the Horgans were mobilizing the troupes. The Horgans go back about 5 generations, Irish Catholic, in Newport. Their name is on buildings in town. They know a few people. We could never call exactly when they would get in, not even in the last few hours. So Kevin’s mother, Mary, managed to get about 40 people on the shore with about 20 minutes notice. IN addition, 3 additional boats met Kev out in the water. One had his brother, Patrick, his sister, Cindy, his nephews, Chris and Andy, and Chris’s buddies Oliver and Alex (who cam to see us on Kauai two years ago). Another boat had hometown buddies, Walter Mey, Ray Mey and Jeff Thompson. The fourth boat had Joe Jansen, another Newport friend.
The kids made a sign, everyone had on their Waterman Challenge tee shirts and we brought Kenna’s Daddy in at 7:45 P.M. at Brenton Point.
I met him in the water with his one request, an ice-cold Corona. The first drink he has had since Thanksgiving last year. Funny, he only had one.
Last night we had another feast and a lot of toasting, some stories and a ton of love to spread to our Kevin, and the backbones, the men in the boat, Chuck, Bobo, and Kevin.
And now Kevin is resting. Sort of. He is asleep on his Dad’s white chair in front of me while I type. Sunglasses on, swollen red feet up on the ottoman, unread newspaper in his lap. He is twitching and jerking and mumbling. I can’t quite make out what he is saying but it sounds like, “Must…paddle…to…Ireland…”
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